


Performance

by ficbear



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Chains, Comeplay, Exhibitionism, Gloves, Leather Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitsuhide suppresses a chuckle; of course his lord wouldn't be satisfied with a simple admission of desire, of course he would insist on a demonstration of it. He begins to stand up, but thinks better of it, and instead makes his way across the floor to Motochika on his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance

Mitsuhide can smell the smoke and incense even before he enters the room, and when he opens the door the haze of it hits him like a wall. There are less candles lit than usual, and at first he can only just make out the figure of his lord, sitting at the end of the room. It's only when he's taken a few steps inside that he notices a second figure, seated to the side of Nobunaga. Motochika Chosokabe is unmistakeable; the candlelight glints on the metal studs on his bracers, on the glossy leather stretched tight across his legs, and on the shock of white hair falling across his face.

"My lord..." Mitsuhide quickly falters, unsure how to react.

"Sit, Mitsuhide," Nobunaga commands, gesturing to the spot across from Motochika.

He obeys without hesitating, but already he can feel himself blushing as he begins to guess his lord's intentions. Thinking that this was an ordinary visit, Mitsuhide chose the lightest robe in which he could decently walk the corridors, and now as he sits down he can barely keep himself covered.

"It looks like this evening is going to be more interesting than I expected." Motochika's eyes are all over him as he speaks.

"That depends. Mitsuhide - how would you feel about joining Motochika in an informal performance?"

The prospect is exciting but daunting, and his voice falters as he replies. "Whatever my lord commands."

"Such foolishness." Nobunaga says, raising an eyebrow. "You might be my vassal, Mitsuhide, but you're not _just_ a vassal. Take responsibility for your desires - passivity will gain you no favour from me."

Mitsuhide bows his head, suddenly aware that he's on the verge of being rejected. As intimidating as the situation is, he can't deny that Nobunaga's desires coincide with his, that the things they've done so far have been as much for his pleasure as for that of his lord. No matter how apprehensive he might be, he's not willing to sacrifice his position with Nobunaga for the sake of avoiding embarrassment; when Mitsuhide finally responds, his voice is clear and firm.

"I apologise, my lord. It would be my pleasure to do this."

"That's all the invitation I need," Motochika says, beginning reach out towards him.

"No, Motochika." Nobunaga raises his hand, and his tone ensures that his guest obeys. "Let Mitsuhide come to you."

Mitsuhide suppresses a chuckle; _of course_ his lord wouldn't be satisfied with a simple admission of desire, of course he would insist on a demonstration of it. He begins to stand up, but thinks better of it, and instead makes his way across the floor to Motochika on his knees.

Motochika moves from his kneeling position, and stretches out languidly on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows. Mitsuhide can smell the scent of his leather boots and trousers, and as he crawls between Motochika's legs, he can't resist rubbing his cheek along the glossy surface of the fabric. Motochika's arousal is obvious, and Mitsuhide presses his lips to the leather stretched across the hard bulge, darting his tongue out to taste it. As he licks and kisses the leather, he can hear Motochika's breath growing shallow, and feel the twitches of his cock under the tight material.

"Now, Motochika, go ahead and reciprocate." Nobunaga commands.

Motochika doesn't waste any time. His hands tangle in Mitsuhide's hair, grinding the younger man's face against the hard ridge of his cock for a moment, before he yanks Mitsuhide up and pulls him into a kiss. Motochika's tongue invades Mitsuhide's mouth as if he's fucking him with the kiss, and Mitsuhide can't suppress a little moan as he opens up under its caress.

"You know, I always suspected you were a bit of a slut under that cold demeanour…" Motochika says, bringing his lips close to Mitsuhide's ear. "Why don't you show me just how much of a whore your lord has taught you to be?"

Mitsuhide's cheeks flush at his words, but he pushes past his embarrassment and trails his tongue across Motochika's chest, licking along the dark swirls of his tattoo. By the time Mitsuhide's tongue reaches his stomach, Motochika has unfastened his leathers and is brandishing his cock, holding it towards Mitsuhide's lips. Out of the corner of his eye, Mitsuhide can see his lord watching, his chin resting on one hand, as nonchalantly as if he were watching a play. The knowledge that Nobunaga is watching his every move fires Mitsuhide's lust, and he takes Motochika's cock into his mouth eagerly, sliding his lips down to the base of its shaft without hesitation. His lord has taught him well, and he intends to demonstrate every last bit of skill in this performance.

Motochika's hands tangle in his hair, gripping it tightly and moving Mitsuhide's head up and down in a fast, eager rhythm. He almost seems to be using Mitsuhide's mouth as a toy, but the selfishness of his hands is belied by the showmanship of his groans; he's enjoying himself, certainly, but Motochika's deep growls are too perfectly crafted to be entirely spontaneous.

Without warning, Mitsuhide is yanked up by the hair and given a hard slap across the cheek. Motochika smirks at him, and grabs both of Mitsuhide's wrists in his hand, gripping them tightly as he unwinds the chain from his belt. The cold metal wraps around Mitsuhide's body, pinning his arms to his chest, fixing his wrists firmly behind his back. He's immobile now from his neck to his waist, and all he can do is kneel there and wait for Motochika's next move.

With a satisfied little laugh, Motochika shoves him back down, forcing his cock back into Mitsuhide's mouth. The firm, cold touch of the chains around him makes the pleasure of being used even keener, and Mitsuhide sucks and licks with abandon, giving himself up to the feeling wholeheartedly.

"You must be aching to have something in here by now," Motochika says, leaning over to press his fingers firmly against the cleft of Mitsuhide's ass. Mitsuhide moans lightly against the hard shaft in his mouth, and then, remembering his role as a performer, moans louder. Motochika chuckles. "Let me help you with that…"

He can hear the sound of things being picked up and moved around on the table next to them, and then the familiar wet sound of something hard being oiled. He flinches just a little as the cold tip of the toy brushes against the rim of his ass, then pushes in, invading him inch by inch until all he can feel is the hard, cool thickness of the rod stretching and spreading him wide. If it wasn't for the coldness of the toy's surface, he could almost imagine that it was Nobunaga fucking him, and the thought sends a shiver through Mitsuhide's body.

He looks up at his lord, as he laps at Motochika's cock, murmuring pleas that become louder and louder as the rod inside him does its work. "More… Please…" he begs, spreading his legs wider. He might be addressing his pleas to Motochika, but his eyes are fixed on his lord. "Please, _harder_ , fuck me…" His voice is louder now, crisp and sharp with playful derision. "Or is this all you're capable of?"

There's a curt little laugh, and suddenly Mitsuhide is yanked upright. Motochika pulls the toy out, casually tossing it aside, and pulls Mitsuhide towards him with the same carelessness. The leather of his gloves is warm against Mitsuhide's skin, as he manhandles the bound young man into position astride his lap. It takes Motochika barely a moment to line himself up, and then his hands grip the chains tightly, shoving Mitsuhide down and impaling him to the hilt in one stroke. "Better..?" Motochika's tone is half mocking, half approving, as he begins to haul Mitsuhide up and down by the chains.

"A little," Mitsuhide replies, his voice catching a little as Motochika moves him more vigorously. He's more than adequately warmed up from the toy, opened up and relaxed just enough to make taking Motochika's cock easy, and now with each downward stroke he can feel the blunt impact of it slamming deep inside him, pushing him close to the edge far too fast; he needs to control the pace of their encounter, if it's to be a satisfying piece of entertainment for his lord. "But I could perform much better with my hands free…"

Motochika gives him a knowing smirk and lets go of the chains, allowing them to drop to the floor. Mitsuhide immediately slows down, letting his rhythm become languid and smooth, rolling and grinding his hips almost torturously slowly. That familiar tautness, the tension in his stomach, recedes once more and before long Mitsuhide is confident enough in his stamina to slip a hand down to grasp his own cock. He'd promised to give a more extravagant performance, after all, and his lord enjoyed displays of initiative; he can feel Nobunaga's eyes on him, as he begins to stroke himself in time to the lazy movements of his hips, and the thought of that gaze running across his flesh brings a moan to Mitsuhide's lips.

"Enjoying yourself?" Motochika says, leaning closer to brush his lips against Mitsuhide's ear. When he speaks next, it's low and soft, just loud enough for Mitsuhide to hear. "Me too. But let's try to involve your lord a little more, shall we? Some audience participation, you could say…"

He pushes Mitsuhide off him, shoving him down to the floor roughly and hauling the young man up onto his hands and knees as if he were just a bit of furniture, an object to be placed and rearranged as Motochika saw fit. Nudging Mitsuhide's legs apart with his own, Motochika kneels behind him and leans across to grab a handful of that long, dark hair. A sharp tug brings Mitsuhide's head up, forcing him to look up at Nobunaga as Motochika slams back into him. "Tell your lord how it feels," Motochika orders, giving another hard pull on Mitsuhide's hair, "how grateful you are for the chance to perform like this…"

Meeting his lord's gaze seems oddly daunting now, though Mitsuhide has done it countless times before. The desire in those dark eyes, heavy and foreboding like a sky full of storm clouds, makes him flinch a little as if he were still an inexperienced young officer. As if all these months of service and training had somehow left his inhibitions intact, as if he still needed to be broken. Forcing himself not to look away, Mitsuhide keeps his eyes locked on Nobunaga's own, and tries to turn the moans that spill from his lips into coherent pleas. "It feels… deep, so deep and hard…" he groans, licking his lips. "Please, my lord, please take my mouth, let me serve you, please…"

Nobunaga's only response is a smile of cruel amusement, and Mitsuhide's groans become more frustrated than lustful. His lord is so close, only just out of reach, close enough that Nobunaga could simply lean forward and take him. Just a few inches away from giving Mitsuhide what he wants, from making the scene perfect. "Lord Nobunaga…" he begs, his voice cracking with need, "please, don't make me wait, please let me…"

Mitsuhide interrupts himself with a yelp as a gloved hand closes around the shaft of his cock. Motochika laughs, and squeezes more firmly, stroking him insistently. "It's all getting to be too much for you, isn't it..? You'll be completely overwhelmed before long..." he taunts Mitsuhide, and it's an accurate enough barb to sting sharply. Tensing his muscles, Mitsuhide meets the hard thrusts of Motochika's hips with equal force, determined that if he's to be overwhelmed, he'll take his fellow performer with him.

Motochika's hand moves down from Mitsuhide's hair, and those gloved fingers force their way between his lips. "Here, you wanted something to suck on…" The mocking tone of Motochika's voice, and the insistent thrusting of his fingers, all proves too much and Mitsuhide finds himself tumbling headlong into his climax. His limbs tense, his back arches, and he bucks and grinds back against Motochika's cock desperately, despite his best efforts to maintain control. Each convulsion wrenches a ragged groan from his throat, and when they finally subside, Mitsuhide is exhausted and panting, barely keeping himself from slumping to the floor.

"What a mess…" Motochika's voice is full of amusement and contempt, and Mitsuhide knows what's coming next even before he feels that gloved hand withdraw from his mouth and move up to grab his hair. He's dragged backwards, shoved down roughly, forced to press his lips to the pool of still-warm come beneath him on the floor. "Clean it up." Motochika orders, yanking hard on his hair. "Your lord won't be happy if I leave his throne room in such a sorry state, and if he decides not to pay me for this performance, you'll be sorry…"

His body is fatigued, but Mitsuhide does as he's told regardless, licking up each pool of come as diligently as he can with Motochika still battering into his ass with such force. The pace of those thrusts quickens, they become sharper and shallower, and Motochika's own breath grows ragged.  Mitsuhide smiles to himself as he laps up the last spot of seed from the floor; he might not have forced Motochika to climax with him, but he wasn't far behind. Looking back with a smug little smirk, Mitsuhide opens his lips to speak, but his mouth is suddenly filled with sticky leather-clad fingers.

"Clean my glove, too," Motochika commands, and Mitsuhide complies eagerly, sucking hard on the leather. Just having something in his mouth again is satisfying, even though he's already spent, and meeting Nobunaga's gaze once more as he does so sends an aftershock of pleasure through Mitsuhide's tired body. He sucks and licks the come from Motochika's gloves as hungrily as if he weren't already exhausted, and he's rewarded with a low growl of satisfaction and a barrage of hard, brutal thrusts. Bracing himself against the impact, Mitsuhide still can't help but moan as Motochika slams deep inside him one last time, filling him with a flood of warmth that sends a shudder through his aching flesh.

"Very good." Nobunaga speaks at last, and Mitsuhide can barely contain his happiness. As soon as Motochika's fingers have left his mouth, he bows his head and thanks his lord for the praise, for his attention, for the opportunity to perform. He keeps his head bowed as Motochika is dismissed and sent to collect his payment, and it's only when he hears the door close that Mitsuhide glances up briefly to meet Nobunaga's gaze once more.

"Come here, Mitsuhide." The order is gentle but irresistible. He crawls forward, feeling desire stirring in him again, and kneels at Nobunaga's feet, waiting for his lord's next command.


End file.
